Watching Stars
by Runaway Wordette
Summary: Every night, he'd come out and sit beside her on the cold grass. He said nothing to fill the cold and peaceful silence, and sat perfectly still in the darkness. She could feel his pulse right beside her, humming, red hot, and like rain all at the same time. He stared up at the blanket of stars with her, and she knew he wasn't counting or naming.


**Soooo... I'm here again! Did anyone miss me? That would be a big no. Welll, I really enjoyed writing this little piece. I think that given time, Vanessa and Innes could have a beautiful relationship if they were given the chance.**

**So, review if you like, and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, in any way, shape, or form, own Fire Emblem. BUT I OWN AWAKENING (product not rights) AND IT'S LIKE PURE MAGICAL WONDERFULNESS! **

* * *

She stared up at the millions of gleaming stars that sparkled brighter than the diamonds in the king's crown, and she did nothing but look at them. She didn't count them, or name them, or try and make shapes with them. She only watched them.

Every night, he'd come out and sit beside her on the cold grass. He said nothing to fill the cold and peaceful silence, and sat perfectly still in the darkness. She could feel his pulse right beside her, humming, red hot, and like rain all at the same time. He stared up at the blanket of stars with her, and she knew he wasn't counting or naming.

Soon, each night their frozen fingers would touch, and fumble for each other. They were numb, and white from the cold, but they latched on together tightly, as if afraid that something would tear them apart.

She whispered to him about how it felt to fly. About how it felt to feel the freezing air kiss her face, and how the sun felt like a feathery coverlet on her skin. The whispers were low, and barely louder than the rustling of leaves in the breeze. She almost wondered if he could even hear the whispered pictures and feelings, or if they were lost in the darkness. But then his fingers would tighten whenever she murmured the word freedom.

After awhile he began to whisper back. His voice was smooth, and low in the darkness, and even though it was nearly nonexistent, she could hear every word. He whispered about his past, how it felt to clutch the smooth wood of a slender bow for the first time, and how his father had saddled his chestnut horse for him before the first ridding lesson during the summer. He whispered about his mother's wide smile, and how the castle hallways had always used to smell like the brown sugar cakes the cooks made for her. He whispered about how now, he wished for more than anything to taste one.

Next week he returned to his cramped tent from a war council to see a crude copy of the castle delicacy on his pillow.

He would sneak and pick small bouquets of the roadside flowers while they marched. The colors were nothing special, merely pale pastels, but the simple petal structure made them unbearably beautiful to him. He tucked them in her saddle bags each morning, and she wove them into her plaited braid.

When they sat by the campfire in the middle of all the chaos, he recited poems from past literature that had been drilled in his head during his studies. He had never bothered with the meaning before now, and had merely learned the words. The rise and fall of his voice and the steady crackle of the wood felt like home. She hummed the songs to him that the boundless sky and playful wind had taught her. She found the way he listened with wonder beautiful.

When her hands blistered and tore from the pressure of reins and steel, he bound them with soft rags and hummed her favorite ballroom waltzes. When he became sick, and coughed and hacked, she went searching the bristly woods for the old herbs her mother had found for her. She made him tea with thorn scratches and a soft smile on her face.

When the air was colder than usual and the frost bit at fingers during marches, he gave her his heavy cloak before she took off. When he tore and wore through his once richly colored robes, she sewed them together with cheap thread bought with her meager wages from a small town's market.

When he heard she had been flying at the frontlines, he shouted at her with a white face of fury and terror. She had shouted back, but they ended up holding each other as tight as they each could while each cried.

She made him a necklace with a pure white feather, and simple string. He gave her an old family ring, with a single diamond.

When the arrow hit her shoulder, he waited in front of the medical tent all night in the cold with clenched fists. When he was stressed and restless, she hummed him lullabies and held his hand to hold him there.

Before the last battle, he gave her a searing kiss. She gave him a solemn promise.

When they came back to the palace, he gave her a new title. She gave him her whole life.

As time passed on and the days grew shorter and longer, they still watched the blanket of stars together with cold fingers as they whispered.


End file.
